


Delinquent

by Not_You



Series: Dreamhouse [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Barebacking, Bathing/Washing, Comeplay, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Clint Barton, Dominant Bottom, Donuts, Facials, Hand Feeding, Leather Jackets, M/M, Office Sex, Reverse Daddy Kink, Switching, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having behaved all through visiting the in-laws, Clint now gets to do what he wants with Phil, which means delinquent-on-reluctant-daddy roleplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint checks himself in the mirror for the last time, and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. They're a tight, faded, threadbare pair that cling to him in ways that Phil loves. His undershirt is the same way, his tattoos clearly visible through the thin white fabric. He's wearing his jacket over it because Phil likes that too, and the weight of it is comforting. One more deep breath and a last pass over his spiked hair, and he's as ready as he'll ever be.

They're using Phil's little home office for this. It's not like they've never fucked there, but it's not a frequent location. The carpeted floor is good enough, but with the main and guest bedrooms both within twenty feet of it, there's little occasion to put that to the test. For a scene like this, though, the office is perfect. Clint is glad they don't have to fake it with a laptop and a card table. He has a pretty good imagination, but he's already nervous enough without having to feel like a play with bad props.

"Okay," he says to himself, and turns off the light, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Phil has had the agreed ten minutes to get his own outfit on and his head together, and there's no use in stalling anymore.

Clint doesn't knock, because that would be out of character. He slouches into the room unannounced, instead. Phil has his back to him, writing something on a steno pad. Clint wonders if it's the lyrics to 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat,' scribbles, or something quasi-legit.

"Watcha workin' on, Daddy?" he asks, going over to rest his hands on Phil's shoulders.

He closes the notebook, looking up at Clint with a very good impression of exasperation. "It's none of your concern, Clint, and you're entirely too old for that infantile address."

They've talked about pretty much every element of this, but have left which ones they'll actually use hazy. Something about this one actually stings a little, though, and Clint growls, "You think so, Daddy?" swiveling Phil's chair to face him. 

God help them both, he's actually wearing an argyle sweater-vest. It's kind of adorable, as is Phil's stern expression. "I do think so,” he says. “It's past time you switched to something else."

"Like what?" Clint's voice has dropped and the snarling note hasn't left it. 

Phil shivers under his hands. "Dad? Father?"

"But you ain't no priest, Daddy," Clint says, kneading Phil's shoulders, enjoying the feel of him loosening up a little under his touch even as his breath comes faster.

"Clint..."

"Even if you are a dirty old man," he murmurs, leaning in and nuzzling his cheek, breath ghosting over his mouth in a phantom kiss.

"Clint!" he squirms but doesn't push Clint away. Even playing, there's only so much protest Clint can enjoy forcing his way through. He crawls into Phil's lap and gives him a real kiss, deep and lingering. "Oh," he gasps, into Clint's mouth, "Clint, oh we shouldn't--"

Clint kisses him roughly, forcing his tongue into Phil's mouth and making him moan before he pulls away enough to speak. "Yeah, but we're gonna." Clint yanks the sweater vest over his head and flings it aside before grabbing the edges of the shirt underneath. Phil is wearing an old button-down specifically so Clint can do what he does now, which is to rip it open, sending buttons flying. 

Phil bites his lip and whimpers, his eyes huge. "Clint..."

"I know what you want, Daddy," Clint purrs, "and I'm going to give it to you." 

He pinches one nipple, and Phil whines. "Clint, please, please..." he's blushing all over, looking helpless and humiliated in a way that makes Clint want to wreck him. He grinds his hips in a slow circle and Phil cries out, his flush deepening. "We should—auuh!" he moans, shaking as Clint bites the other nipple, vicious on both sides, "w-we should st-stop, _ohhhhhh_ oh god, Clint!"

"But if we stop now Daddy doesn't get to fuck my ass," Clint coos, biting Phil's throat and making him keen quietly. "I know how much you love that, Daddy. I know how dirty you are, how much you want to fuck your boy."

"No! N-no, I don't--'

'Daddy," Clint says in tones of cloying fake disappointment, 'you know better than to lie to me."

"Clint..." Phil looks up with eyes that are wide with something that's almost terror. 

It's an important almost, and Clint kisses him again, murmuring against his parted lips. "You know what? I'm going to make you say it out loud."

Phil whines sharply. “Please, please, I can't--”

Clint silences him with a finger to his lips. “Yes you can.” Phil shivers, staring at him. “You're going to say the words 'I'm a dirty old man and I love fucking my boy's tight ass,' or I'm not going to let you.” There's no way in hell that's really happening, of course, but Clint puts some actual steel into his voice and damned if Phil doesn't look more than a little desperate, his flush of arousal deepening with embarrassment. “You're cute like this,” Clint says, with a meaningful grind, and Phil makes a strangled noise that Clint has only heard a few times before. “You like that, Daddy?”

“Yes,” Phil whimpers, and then sobs as Clint bites his shoulder hard, pinching his nipples again.

“Good,” Clint growls, “now say it.”

“I—I...” his voice cracks, and he looks so shamefaced and overwhelmed that for a moment Clint expect him to give a yellow or red light, but then it comes out in a breathy rush. “I'm a dirty old man and I love fucking my boy's tight ass.” There's another little sob at the end of it, and he hides his red face in Clint's chest, trembling. Clint holds him close, enveloping him in the comforting weight of the jacket and the smell of leather.

“Good boy,” he says softly. “I'm so proud of you, Daddy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Phil had forgotten how much the combination of humiliation and arousal can shatter him, and now he lets out a piteous mewl he didn't even know he could produce as Clint stands up, leaving him in the chair, crossed arms covering his chest like a girl. There's a wet spot forming on the front of his slacks and his face just gets even hotter to realize that he's wet enough to get through two layers.

“It's okay, Daddy,” Clint says, laying his jacket lining side down on the floor and coming to sit on Phil's lap again and give his nipples another long, vicious pinch. “I like that you're dirty.”

Phil hides his face in Clint's chest again and clutches at him, his eyes welling up. “Please, baby boy, please, please, please...”

“Such a sweet Daddy,” Clint coos, and takes a moment to soothe him before standing again, taking Phil's hand to raise him up this time. He guides him to lie on the floor, resting his head on the jacket and his hips on his own button-down and Clint's undershirt. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Phil whispers.

“You can bite on the leather if you don't want anyone to hear how much you love it,” Clint says, and Phil whines, grabbing a sleeve to cover his face with and then biting on it as Clint unzips his pants. He can't bear to look and can't bear not to, alternating as Clint strips him. Clint just grins down at him and squeezes his hard cock. “God, I love your cock, Daddy. Why do you have to fuss so much when we both know how much you love fucking me?”

“B-because I shouldn't!” It's funny, how ashamed he feels now, wound all tight in his gut like Clint really is too young, really is someone he should have a custodial role toward. 

Somehow it just makes him harder, though, even with the tears in his eyes that make Clint say, “Give me a color, Daddy.”

“Green!” Phil gasps, and Clint leans down to kiss the tears away. “Ohhh... Oh, Clint, please, please!”

“Such a good daddy,” Clint coos, kissing his mouth with the taste of salt. “This is why I have to have you, Daddy. Nobody my age is sweet like you.” Phil moans into his mouth, melted and utterly at Clint's mercy. There's nothing he wants more right now, and he keens quietly when Clint sits up with a hand on Phil's chest to keep him from following. “In a minute. No one else my age has such a nice, thick cock for me. I have to stretch myself for Daddy.” He wiggles out of his jeans and gently slaps Phil's hands away when he tries to touch. “Not yet, Daddy.”

The next few minutes are torture. Clint groans and whimpers and bites his lip as he works first one and then three fingers into himself, fumbling for the right angle and then crying out when he finds it, all flushed and gleaming and gorgeous. “Clint,” Phil hears himself whine, voice cracking, “please baby boy, please, please, Daddy needs to be inside you, Daddy needs it so much...”

“Ssh.” Clint strokes his face with his free hand, and kisses away fresh tears. “Just a minute, Daddy. You're being so good.” Phil lets out a pained, longing moan, but grabs onto the jacket instead of Clint, biting the sleeve and breathing and tasting the sharp, wild scent of leather. 

Another few agonizing seconds, and then Clint is saying, “Now, Daddy. C'mon, give it to me,” and Phil has no choice but to obey, pushing into Clint's wet, open hole and sobbing as he sinks down to take it all, murmuring, “fuck yes Daddy fuck give it to me give it to me” like a prayer and Phil can barely breathe and all that matters is burying himself as deep in Clint's merciless heat as he can get.

Clint gently pulls at the bars in his nipples and rides Phil fast and hard, holding him deep inside. Phil drags him down and takes one pink nub into this mouth, the bar gently clicking against his teeth. Clint cries out, grinding onto Phil so hard that he'll probably have rug burn on his ass by the time this is over, and he does not care in the slightest. It'll just match Clint's knees.

“Gonna come all over your face, Daddy.” Clint growls, “Gonna mark you for mine.”

All Phil can do is moan and let him, making a plaintive noise when he pulls off of Phil's cock and moves up to straddle his face. Phil's mouth hangs open, and he can't even beg, crying out as Clint grunts and then groans, slick heat hitting his lower lip. “You're such a slut for me, Daddy,” Clint pants, gentle fingertips stroking the mess into Phil's mouth and then lingering there as he sucks them clean. “Oh, such a good boy.” 

He shudders, stroking Phil's tongue, and then moves back again, grinning at what must be a very silly look on Phil's face. “I have to take care of my Daddy,” Clint coos, and slides onto him again. He has to go slowly now, and it feels like an eternity of sobbing and begging before he's speeding up and clenching hard on Phil, growling for him to come, to fill him up all wet and filthy. Phil obeys, coming so hard he actually greys out for a moment, ears ringing. He can still feel and smell Clint with him, though, and within a moment or two he's back.

“Okay?” Clint asks, holding him close, both sleeves of the jacket around their heads and shoulders. It must look ridiculous, but the shade and seclusion is nice.

“Yeah,” Phil says softly. “Jesus.”

“Stop mentioning other men when you're in bed with me,” Clint grumbles, and Phil laughs until his stomach hurts and there are tears rolling down his cheeks again, clinging to Clint, who grins at him as he wheezes to a stop. “I like hearing you laugh,” he says softly, and Phil kisses him.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Clint a while to be absolutely positive that he can walk. He's sweaty and sore all over and it takes way too much effort to do a crunch to sit up. His legs feel like jello and his heart is still beating hard, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he makes a colossal effort and stands up. He plants his feet and stretches his arms over his head, looking around as Phil lets out a low wolf-whistle. He's grinning like an idiot and his hair is standing straight up and he's so fucking cute Clint may die. He crouches to kiss him again, and then gets up and fetches the pitcher of water he left in the fridge before getting started. He snags two glasses, and after a moment of consideration, a package of donuts with what's called 'a chocolatey coating' for legal reasons, and then heads back upstairs.

Phil reaches for him as soon as he comes through the door, a vulnerable and childlike gesture that slips up under Clint's ribs and into his heart like a blade. He sets everything down and kneels next to Phil, propping his head up and helping him drink. He takes a whole glass with only one desperate little gasp for air in the middle, and half of another before slowing down. A little spills into the hollow of his throat, and he shivers, grinning up at Clint.

“Better?” Clint asks, ducking his head to suck the cold water off of his skin.

“Yeah,” Phil gasps, lightly clutching at Clint's back. He hates to break that tentative grip but he does, because Phil likes these glasses and will want them kept safe.

“Shh, baby.” He sets the glass beside the pitcher and stretches out next to Phil, hugging him tightly and unsure which of them he's really trying to soothe.

“You all right, kid?” Phil asks softly, and Clint chuckles.

“Yeah.” He sighs and kisses the side of Phil's neck. They lie there in silence for a little while before Clint speaks again. “I heard that after a verbal humiliation scene you're supposed to tell your partner that none of it was true.”

“That would be nice of you,” Phil says, yawning, “but it's not required.” He rubs Clint's back with the same friendly roughness he'd show a half-grown puppy, and Clint wriggles like one, making Phil smile.

Clint smiles back, and props himself up a little, tracing an idle spiral on Phil's chest with one fingertip. “Well. You're a wonderful man who really cares about others and if a troubled teenager came on to you you'd take him directly to therapy and would not pass Go and would not collect any dollars. Or any ass, however lovely.”

Phil laughs and kisses Clint. “Such a sweet boy I've got. How'd I get so lucky?”

“A lifetime of good deeds,” Clint says, only about ten percent teasing. Phil's smile turns a little more serious, and he kisses Clint, slow and lingering. They stay like that for a while, trading soft kisses until Clint firmly reminds himself of what all this jizz will feel like if they let it dry completely, and pulls away. Phil whines a little and Clint pets him, promising to return quickly and then jumping up to fetch towels and body wash as hot water runs into the basin he left in the bathroom. He gets back to it before it overflows, and carries it out carefully, setting it on a folded towel beside Phil. 

“What excellent service this place has,” Phil mumbles as Clint wets a towel and adds body wash to make a lather.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he says, grinning and swiping it across Phil's belly. Phil just purrs, lying there all melted and passive, letting Clint bathe and dry him piece by piece. He does his best to keep Phil warm as he works, and once he's sure that Phil is clean and dry, he guides his arms into the sleeves of the jacket. Phil hugs himself and watches Clint bathe. He doesn't put on much of a show since he wants to get back to the snuggling as soon as possible, but Phil seems to enjoy it anyway.

Once Clint has himself reasonably clean he heaves Phil up into his arms and stands with him. He's pretty heavy, but Clint is strong enough to carry him the short distance to the bedroom. He loves this and so does Phil, if the little cooing noise he makes or the way he cuddles even closer is any indication. The bed is made and waiting for them, but Clint puts Phil on top of it and wraps an extra blanket around him, because Phil hates to get crumbs on the sheets. He complains a little when Clint pulls away, but lets him go and get the water and the donuts.

The donuts are important. A guilty pleasure since Phil's actual childhood, he still loves them far more than they deserve. Clint sets everything else on the nightstand and opens the package with his teeth before putting an arm around Phil and carefully feeding him one. He takes it in tiny mouselike nibbles, and Clint smiles down at him.

“Such a sweet daddy,” he says softly, and Phil blushes, looking up at Clint through his eyelashes with such a vulnerable expression on his face that it makes Clint's heart ache in a way that's more pleasure than pain. “God, Phil, I love you so much,” he says, and kisses chocolatey coating off of his lips.


End file.
